District 12's First Victor
by Katnibellamione
Summary: I have seen some stories postulating about who the other victor from Twelve might have been. This is my take on it. And it starts with a young man named Duke Vedaldi…. Review, review, review! I'm proud of this one. And enjoy!
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

Katniss Everdeen entered Victor's Village through the back yards, a game bag slung over her shoulder. The sun was just a pink blaze over the horizon. Peeta would be home from the bakery by now after closing up. Or more accurately, he would be over at Haymitch's.

Once a week, the District 12 victors gathered for dinner. The ritual almost always took place at Haymitch's house. For one thing, it was more convenient, because Haymitch never cared about how trashed his place looked, whereas Katniss did. It just meant she didn't have to worry about cleaning for guests. For another thing, Katniss wanted at least some privacy in the house she shared with Peeta, whom she had quietly married and moved in with just a year after the war. There hadn't really even been a wedding, in the classical sense of a big party. She had worn a simple white dress, Peeta a suit; the only guest was Haymitch. They had toasted some bread and shared it, sealed it with a kiss and that was that. Neither of them had even really talked about marrying; it had just been understood that they were practically husband and wife anyway.

Katniss shook these happy memories from her head as she stalked onto Haymitch's back porch. Her nose wrinkled – she could smell the alcohol from here. But, she could also hear laughter, so at least her mentor and husband weren't dead. _Still, even if Peeta is already drunk, I'm going to murder him_. _Or at least refuse to let him fuck me for a week_ , she thought darkly.

Haymitch Abernathy was, predictably, drunk. Peeta thankfully was not. He pulled her into his lap and gave his wife a searing kiss. Katniss indulged him, even relished it. She never tired of kissing her husband like any other, ordinary woman. Yup, this was home.

"The best part about being me," Peeta declared when he released Katniss. "Is coming home to you every night."

"Uggh! Get a room!" Haymitch slurred from across the table.

"No time for that, old man," Katniss scowled, rising off Peeta's lap as she pointedly ignored his pout. "Supper's ready!"

Indeed, minutes later, the bird she had caught in the woods was cooked and the victors were eating hungrily. Haymitch was even surprisingly less sloppy than normal. Except he still insisted on wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

"So," Haymitch began, "you two still working on that book?"

The Memory Book, as it was dubbed, had been Katniss's idea. Peeta had just helped her by sketching old friends whose faces they did not want to forget now that all were long dead. Katniss shrugged and nodded.

"Yeah," she affirmed. "But we thought you didn't want any part of it." They had asked Haymitch if there was anybody from his childhood or any tribute from his long years as a mentor whom he wanted to preserve in the book, but the old man had refused. Katniss had been affronted at first, until Peeta reminded her that, of the three of them, Haymitch dealt the worst with revisiting the often-painful past.

"I didn't, sweetheart," Haymitch agreed. "But, I've changed my mind." He held up a hand as Peeta instantly made to get up from the table and run next door for the book, without even saying Excuse me. "Not everyone, mind you. _Yet_. It will take me a bit to remember 46 tributes, not to mention folks from my youth. And I still might not get to them all. But…. there is one person who I would like to put in there for posterity."

For some reason, Katniss could tell that whoever this person had been, he or she must have been important, to Haymitch especially. She leaned over the table.

"Who, Haymitch?" she pressed.

Haymitch looked at her with a twinkle in his eye. "How many victors of the Hunger Games hailed from District 12?"

Katniss blinked, perplexed. Talk about a letdown. The old drunk had gotten her all excited and now he was doling out trivia? Her husband looked just as confused.

"Uh…. three?" Peeta answered obviously.

Haymitch smirked at him after just taking a swig from his bottle. "Wrong."

"No!" Katniss gasped, suddenly realizing. She grabbed Peeta's arm. "No, cause remember? The Mayor would always read two names at the Reaping: Haymitch and….. oh, I know it, I know it! What is it?"

Haymitch laughed at her frustration. "The first Victor of District 12," he began, "was a man named Duke Vedaldi."

"Story time!" Peeta crowed. "I'll go get the book!" And he was off like a shot, returning with the precious item in less than five seconds and practically falling into his chair in his haste.

Haymitch chuckled and waited for Peeta to ready his pen and art supplies.

"Let's begin. Duke Vedaldi lived long ago at the start of the Games….."


	2. Chapter 1: The 13th Hunger Games

**Chapter 1: The 13** **th** **Hunger Games**

16-year-old Duke Vedaldi trudged along with his mother, Julie, down the road from the Seam. His best clothes only accentuated his handsome features: piercing blue eyes (inherited from his merchant father, waiting back home), chiseled face and jaw, broad forehead and a short crop of hair that stuck up at the top.

He had only been a toddler when the Rebellion happened, too little to really even remember a time before the dreaded Hunger Games. But, here they were again, in their 13th year, and today was Reaping Day. Tonight, two poor souls – one boy and one girl – would be sent on a long journey to their pretty much certain deaths.

Duke registered, as he had the last four years since he had become age-eligible and said goodbye to his mother. Then, he went to stand in the roped-off area for the other sixteen year old boys.

Every year was the same. The Mayor would stand and play a Capitol-produced video explaining the need for the Hunger Games. Duke knew the whole thing by heart, and it was boring as hell. Then, the Mayor – a practical man who always made sure to follow the schedule exactly – would awkwardly begin what was clearly a canned line from some printed script: "Now, we shall give the names of past District 12 victors:", followed by a momentary silence before the Capitol escort, Proteus Inhofe, would then draw from the Reaping Balls. The Past Victors announcement was always met by some amusement in Twelve. Why even bother saying that they would be introduced? There had never been a victor from District 12. Ever. It was just starting to get embarrassing, in fact, because every other district had produced at least one victory in the past twelve years except for them. Hell, District 1 had already emerged victorious twice. Duke would have thought that a previous Games could have at least been rigged or something to ensure District 12 got _a_ win, because Lord knows none of their tributes could do it on their own. All were too little to work in the mines by the time they got to the arena, and apparently Proteus had to also double in the role of mentor – a previous victor of the Games. Given how all two dozen District 12 tributes thus far had come home in a coffin, he didn't do a very good job.

Proteus's voice interrupted Duke's thoughts: "Gracey Simone!" An older girl of 18 with a round, beautiful face and luminous eyes tried to look brave as she took the stage. Her olive skin clearly gave her away as a Seam girl, but Duke did not know her.

Then, Proteus reached into the Boys Reaping Ball. Duke readied himself to leave the pen and find his mother as soon as the poor soul took the stage:

"Duke Vedaldi!"

Sweet wounded Panem. The poor soul was _him_.


	3. Chapter 2: Saying GoodbyeMeeting Proteu

**Chapter 2: Saying Goodbye / Meet Proteus**

The look of shock had not left Duke's face, even after he had walked almost like a zombie to the stage, shaken Gracey's hand, and been escorted by the Peacekeepers into the Justice Building. Only now did it leave him as he saw the door to his room open and his mother walk in.

Duke waited until the doors were shut completely before he flung himself into her arms. He would not let anyone else see what a boy he was, going to Mommy for comfort.

"Have you told Dad?"

"Yes," his mother croaked out. "He's distraught, like I am." She stroked his hair even as it became damp with her tears. "Oh, my baby….. my only child…." She pulled away to look at her son. "Duke, you have to win. You have to."

"Mom, no one from Twelve has won the Games! I'm as good as dead…."

"NO!" Julie snapped, before shuddering to compose herself. "I refuse to belief that! We may yet need a win, but if anyone can do it, it's you! I…. I can't lose you, Dukey. Neither can your father. Please, promise me!"

Duke breathed out long and low. "I promise, Mother."

She smiled at him, keeping his gaze until the last as she backed out of the open door that the Peacekeeper now held for her.

Duke waited until the guards came to fetch him. He didn't know Gracey except that she was well known in the Seam, had a lot of friends. It may be a bit before she was through saying goodbye to all of them. He knew his Dad wouldn't come, though it saddened him. Maybe it was for the best, if he was as distraught as his mother said he was.

The Peacekeepers came soon enough, ready to escort him, Gracey and Proteus to the train. Before Duke knew it, District 12 was being left far behind him. Odds were he would never see it again.

* * *

The extravagant dinner was one of the few things that managed to lighten Duke's morose mood. It was better than anything he had tasted in the Seam, and probably was better than what the Merchants had. He and Gracey ate as quickly as they could while still trying to be polite. Judging by Proteus's barely concealed frown of disapproval, they were failing miserably. When the meal was finally through, Proteus stood up with a yawn and stretched.

"I'm going to retire early. Good night, kiddies."

"Wait," Duke asked. "Proteus, what about telling us how to…." The door slammed shut in his face. He turned back to Gracey. "Isn't he supposed to teach us how to win?"

Gracey shrugged helplessly, her eyes looking to him, then quickly away. It was as if she knew something he didn't and was reluctant to share. "Proteus doesn't teach the tributes."

Duke's heart sank like a stone. "How do you know? I thought he was supposed to be a mentor until somebody actually _wins_!"

Gracey shook her head. "He always says he did his best to guide our tributes through, but the Peacekeepers know better. My…. father works as a janitor in the Justice Building. He's heard them say how Proteus simply makes the tributes look good and doesn't care what happens to them after that."

Duke shook with rage. "So he just…. gives up? Doesn't even try?"

"Can you blame him?" Gracey snapped back unusually loudly as she stood. "With or without his help, nobody from Twelve has won the Games! Nobody. We might as well face facts now, Vedaldi – we're as good as dead!"

Duke remembered those same words that he had uttered to his mother and shook his head. "No," he growled. "We're not dead. Not yet." He marched out of the train car, Gracey scampering after him.

"Where are you going?"

"It's time that Proteus started proving his worth around here."

The tributes quickly found their guide and Duke promptly pinned him to the wall.

"All right, you little Capitol sleazebag! The jig is up! You are going to actually teach us how to win, instead of sending us off like pigs for slaughter!"

Proteus spluttered at Duke's harsh actions and words. "I can't mentor you! I…. I don't know how!"

"Because you've never tried to learn," Duke finished shortly, releasing the Capitol emissary. "But twelve years of watching the same process over and over again had to have taught you something. Just think back to anything you have observed over the years and start with that."

Seeing that neither Duke nor Gracey seemed intent on hurting him, Proteus meekly led them back into the dining car.

"There are many ways a tribute can win, of course. As you know, every district but yours has won a Games at least once…."

"Yes, we know!" Duke snapped irritably. "Get on with it! What does that have to do with anything?"

"Because," Proteus said with uncharacteristic force as he eyed the boy. "Every District has its own unique set of skills, meaning they each bring their own set of advantages and disadvantages to the table. A tribute can win on more than brute strength. Cleverness, cautiousness, even cowardice can help a tribute live in the arena."

"Like the boy from District 6 who won the year before last," Gracey offered. When Duke looked to her, she shrugged. "He won because he hid the entire time with camouflage."

"Exactly," Proteus nodded. "Duke, what you were looking for when you first came to me was a formula that doesn't exist. Remember, these are the Hunger Games. There practically _are_ no rules, which means there's no one set way to win. Cheat codes do not exist in this contest. To win, a tribute has to do what works best for them – use his or her own strengths to stay one step ahead of death, and even use those strengths on your opponents."

Duke blinked in utter astonishment. A smile had been forming on his face throughout the entire time Proteus spoke. "Damn. And I thought you were just a dumb Capitol citizen. Why the sudden change?"

"Because both of you possess something that none of your predecessors had."

"What's that?"

"Fight. Now let's get cracking so that one of you can make it home alive this time!"


	4. Chapter 3: The Training

**Chapter 3: The Training**

Proteus was as good as his word. He did it all, and infinitely more, it turns out. He explained to Gracey and Duke all about the events leading up to the Games and strategies other tributes had used for each one. Critically, he told them more about the sponsors that both had seen drop gifts during previous Games.

"I did more than just make the tributes look good, you know," Proteus pointed out. "The best I could do was try and convince sponsors to give funding to them. Even then, though, very few made it far enough into the Games to get sponsorship, and those that did weren't special enough to be viewed as having any merit."

"Don't worry," Duke reassured him. "We'll be the first."

In between session with Proteus, Duke and Gracey were left to their prep teams to be primped and preened. Any remaining time was spent with their mentor preparing for the interviews in the Capitol.

Upon arriving in the huge city, the District 12 entourage was escorted to the City Circle, where the Tribute Parade would kick off the festivities. Gracey and Duke were doused in black powder that resembled coal dust, yet unlike coal dust was safe to inhale. The designs did not make the District 12 tributes noticeable; others more easily outshone them, especially the tributes from 1, 2 and 4.

Then, all the tributes were hustled into the Tribute Training Center. It had only been in operation for the last several years, as the first few Games had been spent constructing the majestic skyscraper.

* * *

Training began the next day. Following advice from Proteus, Gracey and Duke spent the morning observing other tributes and memorizing their skills, even managing to figure out some weaknesses through process of elimination. The boy from 1 – Jefferson was his name – was cunning and super strong, yet he wasn't particularly fast. The girl from 2, Bella, was almost the opposite – she was very skilled in battle and quite sexy to boot, but in terms of brains, it was a puzzle as to whether she even had any. Even the battle skills were few and far between, as she spent most of her time checking out all the other boys – Duke included. Gracey felt the need to tease him about this often.

"She thinks you're hot, I can tell."

"Doesn't matter, Gracey. She's still going to have to kill me if she wants to win. But I'll keep that as food for thought."

The pair also managed to perfect some skills they had and learn some new ones. Duke quickly became skilled in hand-to-hand combat, and took to sword fighting quite well.

Finally, at the end of the third day, the tributes had their private sessions with the Gamemakers. Gracey and Duke came to an agreement that they would not tell each other what they had shown the planners of the Games.

That same night, the Training Scores were announced, Gracey and Duke both pulled 10s, putting them right up with the Careers. Proteus was ecstatic.

"Sponsors will be intrigued by you, for sure!" he crowed. "No Twelve tribute has gotten such a high score before, never!"

Trouble was, Duke and Gracey both knew that high Training Scores meant they were high targets for any other tributes.


	5. Chapter 4: The Interviews

**Chapter 4: The Interviews**

For the interviews, Proteus had coached Duke to be likable, yet determined. Determined to be the first winner from District 12. Gracey was going to go with sweet, yet flirtatious.

Caesar Flickerman was the consummate host, making all of the tributes at ease; it happened every year. Duke was last of all, praising Gracey for her interview on his way to the stage.

"So, Duke: there has never been a victor for your district. But, your escort seems to be telling the media there is something different about you and Gracey. Do you think you will have what it takes to put District 12 on the board?"

"I don't think it, Ceasar: I know. District 12 will win this year. It will either be Gracey or me. And you can take that to the bank!"

"Ho, ho!" Ceasar chortled as time expired. "Confident, aren't we? Well, best of luck to you, Duke Vedaldi."

Duke went to bed that night, nervous yet ready for the arena to come the next day…..


	6. Chapter 5: Into the Arena

**Chapter 5: Into the Arena**

Proteus saw his tributes off to the hovercraft early the next morning. He gave them both a hug goodbye and seemed genuinely scared for them. Following having the tracker placed into their arms, the tributes were on their way.

Upon arriving at the arena, all were hustled underground and prepped in their arena garb. Duke noted that the jumpsuit he wore was light yet its texture was firm. After thanking his stylist, he forced his feet into the pod that would lift him into the arena.

"Launching pods….." a voice called and the tube began to rise. Soon, sunlight blinded Duke as he rose into the arena.

The space seemed to be four arenas in one, at least with its separate locations. Each quarter of the circular space held a different landscape. Behind his pedestal, Duke could see a tropical paradise – complete with a strip of beach and ocean. To his left, he could see a dense forest. And kiddy-cornered was a lava-like world, complete with an as-yet dormant volcano. The tributes and Cornucopia were standing in a dense meadow.

"Let the 13th Hunger Games begin. May the odds be ever in your favor!" The countdown began. "5….4…..3…..2…..1…"

Determined, Duke launched off his plate and sprinted for the horn. The first one there, he quickly seized two backpacks not far from the opening and then turned tail for the woods to his right, dodging and knocking down another tribute on his way out. At the edge of the tree line, he met up with Gracey, as had been planned. The District 12 tributes cleared out, leaving the screams far behind. After putting a few miles in, they could not run any further and slowed to a walk through the trees.

"Proteus said that our first order of business was to find water," Duke recited as they went along. "I hope we find something soon."

"Look!" Gracey pointed. Just ahead of them was a river. Both stopped on its bank and examined it.

"The water's flowing pretty fast," Duke frowned. He turned to Gracey. "Do you think it's safe?"

Gracey laughed. "Oh, Duke, of course it is! In fact, I bet this river flows right into the ocean in the Tropics Quadrant of the arena. If we ever needed to get out of these woods, we could find the river and follow it back to the coast!"

"That's all well and good," Duke agreed patiently. "But what I meant was 'Is it safe to drink?'"

Gracey frowned. She hadn't thought of that. She had just assumed the water was safe.

"Remember: Gamemakers have poisoned parts of the arena in the past. The water would be no different."

Gracey nodded. "Then we'd better find some way to purify it. Let's check the backpacks for anything useful."

Duke dug through until both were empty. They had a good haul: an axe, a belt of knives, some bread, and a couple of canteens that were completely empty. But….

"No iodine," Duke reported to his friend. He cursed. "That would have been the safest way to get fresh water."

"Well, maybe we can boil it," Gracey suggested.

"And risk alerting other tributes with a fire? Forget it, Gracey – we'd be sitting ducks."

"You don't know that!" Gracey chided him. "And besides, we have to stay hydrated. Barring a sponsor actually giving us some iodine, the only way we can ensure we drink safely is by boiling! We have plenty of kindling, and we know how to make a fire from Training."

"But, other tributes…."

"…..are a risk we are going to have to take!"

BOOM. BOOM. BOOM….

"Bloodbath's over," Duke mused, glancing at the sky. He noticed Gracey quietly following the numbers. "Keep counting."

Gracey did so for a while until the last cannon faded into the wind. "13," she reported.

"So 11 left to play. That's pretty standard for any Games," Duke nodded. "I doubt there will be any other attacks tonight. I'll make the fire ready for boiling; you stand guard until we're ready to gather the water."

By and by, Duke had a decent fire going. He refused to make it too big because he was still worried about other tributes seeing it. Using their canteens, Duke and Gracey gathered the water, then boiled it over the fire before drinking right from the bottle. Even warm, it tasted fresh. To supplement, Gracey managed to catch and stab a rabbit, so that they had a decent dinner.

The fire had died down by the time it grew dark, so only the moonlight could be used for sight as the faces of the dead appeared in the sky. The girl from 3. Both from Districts 5 through 9. The boy from 10. The girl from 11. That meant Districts 1, 2 and 4 had all lived as well as 12.

The events of the day had made both Duke and Gracey sleepy, and they were both snoring away soon after the Capitol seal had disappeared.


	7. Chapter 6: Arena Test

**Chapter 6: Arena Test**

"Duke. Duke, wake up!"

Duke was pulled out of sleep by Gracey shaking him. The sun was shining through the trees.

"What is it?"

"Tributes. I hear rustling in the trees a little ways away."

 _Here we go…._ Duke thought, as he jumped to his feet and readied his weapons alongside Gracey. Soon enough, two figures crashed through the underbrush. It was the girl from 10 and the boy from 11 in an alliance.

"I thought I saw smoke!" 11 crowed.

"Nah, it's just District 12," 10 pouted. "Pooh. Oh, well. At least they'll be easy kills!"

Duke snarled and got into his fight stance. "I wouldn't be so sure of that. We're not like other Twelve tributes."

Their adversaries sneered. But just as 11 was readying to lunge into battle with Duke –

KABOOM! A giant blast landed in the empty space between them, blasting all four tributes off their feet. Duke came to first, pushing himself up on his elbows to see 11 also becoming undazed. Through hazy vision, the boy seemed to glow.

That was when Duke realized: the boy was on fire.

"Ahhhh! Put it out, put it out!" 11 called desperately. He flailed around, trying to douse the flames licking up his jumpsuit. Duke was too stunned to help, and Gracey and 10 were still out of it.

There was a piercing WHEESH, followed by another KABOOM!, as a giant fireball exploded right into the river. But instead of being instantly doused, the water itself caught on fire. 11, meanwhile, fell backwards into the river, right on the flames. With horrible screams, he burned alive, and the cannon couldn't come soon enough.

Duke stared. So the water had been poisonous. More than that, it had been contaminated. Thank goodness he and Gracey had boiled the stuff before drinking it.

More screams snapped him out of his thoughts. Gracey and 10, not even bothering to fight were looking up at the sky. Fire was literally raining down from the heavens. And Duke could only think of one explanation. The volcano. It must be erupting!

Another fireball tore into a tree just above them, setting it ablaze, followed quickly by yet another blasting 10 off-balance once again.

"RUN!" Duke screamed to Gracey. Leaving 10 and her wails far behind, the District 12 tributes took off through the trees, dodging fireballs as they came hailing down. One singed Gracey, and it only took Duke's quick thinking of throwing their pure canteen water on it to put it out.

After nearly half an hour of this, the fireballs stopped. The Gamemakers had had their fun. Another cannon was heard, and Duke bet that it belonged to the poor girl from 10.

Both he and Gracey stopped by a tree to rest. After a while, though, Duke's ears perked up.

"Someone's coming! Quick, hide! Climb!" He hustled Gracey up the tree they were leaning against and she scaled it with ease. He followed and they hid amongst the branches.

And not a moment too soon, for the pair now observed the boy from 3 running in a panic through the trees, yells following him. All the tributes from 1, 2 and 4 came after him.

"Goddamm little tween!" Jefferson cursed, huffing and puffing as he went. "Leading us right into a fiery hellhole!"

"Guess everyone got caught up in the firestorm," Gracey whispered to Duke.

Indeed, all of 1, 2 and 4 looked worse for wear, with noticeable burns on their bodies. Based on what Jefferson had said, Duke surmised that they must have found the boy from 3 and he had led them on a chase right into the Gamemaker trap. Whether intentionally or not was not for him to say.

Just beyond their tree, there came a cry and a scuffle as the big alliance caught the small tribute.

"Thanks for nothing, you little weasel!" the boy from 4 roared, followed by a terrible scream and a cannon. Gracey turned her face into Duke's shirt.

"Well, that's done!" huffed Jefferson, clearly tired of the chase. "Let's get his backpack."

"Hey, no fair! I made the kill, I get his backpack!" the boy from 4 protested.

"Oh, grow, up, Cy!" a girl's voice rang out. Duke could tell that it wasn't Bella; maybe it was this Cy's district partner. "Besides that isn't even a rule!"

"Yeah it is."

"Well, I think Jeff deserves the backpack. He's the leader," the male from 2 offered up.

"No, Cy is right. We should have a procedure for who gets the spoils," the girl from 1 bantered back.

"Only the victor gets the spoils!" Jefferson declared emphatically. "And we all know that's going to be me!"

"In your dreams, surfer boy," the girl from 4 muttered.

"I SAID IT WILL BE ME!"

Shouts and scuffling could be heard, presumably over the backpack. Then the clash of weapons. Then screams. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. Rapidly fading yelps from Cy ended the whole affair.

"Let him go, Bella! I'll be sure to deal with him later if I ever see him again," Jefferson growled.

"So, is this it?" Bella asked. "The alliance is over?"

"What do you think?" No answer. "Go! Before I change my mind about killing you."

Leaves rustled as Bella dashed away into the forest. Jefferson's mad mutterings to himself also faded away.

Duke and Gracey stared at each other in bewilderment.

"Fighting over a backpack," Gracey breathed, disgusted. " _Killing_ over a backpack. What kind of world are we living in?"

"The arena," Duke quipped grimly. He started to count on his fingers. "Two dead in the firestorm, one in the chase and three more in the backpack battle. That's six. Taken from eleven…." His eyes widened. "We've bypassed the Final 8! There's only five of us left!"

"Duke!" Gracey squealed, gripping his arms. "Do you know what this means? We've broken the record! No District 12 tribute has lasted into the top five! Ever. And only one ever made it to the Final 8 before now!"

Duke nodded with a small smile, remembering the statistics Proteus had given them. Then, his face hardened as the last of the sunlight faded and the faces of the dead appeared in the sky.

The girl from 1. The boy from 2. The boy from 3. The girl from 4. And the girl from 10 and the boy from 11.

Duke sighed as the seal and anthem faded away. "Now, they know who is left to find: us." He paused before making his tough decision. "Gracey, if we want to have a chance at winning this thing, we'll have to split up."

Gracey stared at him. Her eyes filled with tears. Then, surprisingly, she tackled Duke in a tight hug and gave him a peck on the cheek.

"Good luck to you. And be careful!" she implored him.

Duke smiled sadly. "You as well."

Gracey hopped down from the tree and disappeared into the forest, Duke staring after her sadly. He knew from watching the Games that, except for killing, ending alliances was always hard.


	8. Chapter 7: Strategize

**Chapter 7: Strategize**

The next two days were awfully lonely for Duke. He confined himself to the woods, catching squirrels and other small creatures when and where he could. To cook them, he retraced his steps back to the polluted river, where the blaze from the firestorm was still burning on the waterline. Building his own fire had proven to be risky enough, and he did not want to elevate the chances of getting into a battle with Jefferson, or Bella, or Cy, or worse Gracey. Not until he was ready.

The third day in the arena passed, and there were no faces in the sky that night. On the fourth day, Duke was preparing a trap to hunt for more food, when he noticed a parachute float down towards him. It got caught on a branch.

Duke sighed. Using the belt of knives that he had kept from when he and Gracey had split their resources at her departure, he stabbed them into the trunk of the tree and began to climb. The prize was very high up, and Duke just hoped that another tribute had not seen the thing come down. Opening the canister attached, he retrieved a small glass vial. A note was taped to it:

 _Iodine was some good thinking. Bought this for a pretty penny so you guys won't have to risk starting a fire ~ Proteus._

 _P.S. Sorry this is so tardy! There was some haggling on the price! :)_

Duke let out a growl of annoyed frustration. He shook his fist at the sky. "Really, Proteus? Really? How efficient are those sponsor guys up there?" He realized right after he said it that it might not have been the best way to voice his frustrations. Other sponsors might be turned off in the future, or worse the Gamemakers could sic some cruel punishment on him. No, he couldn't afford to be picky. Besides, late or not, the iodine would still be helpful.

"Sorry," Duke apologized to the sky; no doubt sponsors and even Proteus were laughing right along with the audience. A sudden snap and squeal alerted him to the fact that his trap had worked. Carefully climbing down, he saw a big rabbit trapped in his snare. Tribute Training taught you many skills.

Purifying the river water with some iodine to supplement the rabbit, Duke decided to move on from the woods. There were still three other quarters of the arena, and who knows what they had in store? Remembering Gracey's advice that the river probably led right to the ocean in the Tropical Quadrant, he decided to follow it.

The river took him through the woods and soon enough, Duke noticed the trees were changing into a more jungle like species. At last, soon after nightfall, Duke reached the edge of the jungle. Yards up the beach, not far from the ocean's edge, he could see a tribute over a fire. Duke readied his knives. Then he stopped. The tribute was Gracey. He could only shake his head in amusement. S _he never learned about the risks of fire._ Just as he was readying to kill his old ally, Gracey suddenly snapped to something off to her left. She screamed – and then a figure tackled her. She fought fiercely, even getting his weapon away from him and thrown into the water before she lost her own. Finally, she threw her attacker off of her and both got to their feet.

Duke stared. If the silhouette in the firelight had not already given him a clue, the face proved it: it was Cy. Mousy, with brown hair and glasses, he did not have nearly as good a body build as someone like Jefferson. He kept still as Gracey began to speak to Cy.

"Aren't you going to kill me?" The question was asked almost innocently. Cy shrugged and looked at his feet.

"Don't have a weapon. And I doubt I could get you with my bare hands; you'd overpower me."

Gracey bit her lip as she frowned, obviously thinking something over. "Maybe. Maybe not. But you look as tired as I do. Why don't you sit by the fire while you think over whether to kill me or not?"

Cy agreed and sat down by the fire. Duke wanted to run out there and kill the guy himself. What was Gracey thinking? The time for alliances was past. But something stopped him. He was curious to see how this would play out.

Gracey sat by Cy and talked with him. The boy from 4 looked to be about fifteen and seemed to be quite friendly.

"So, what are you doing here in the arena, then?" Gracey asked.

Cy looked into the flames sadly. "My father. He thinks I'm useless. Not muscular, not strong, never can be successful with the ladies. I volunteered to maybe prove myself to him. If I win, maybe I won't be seen as such a loser."

"Is that why Jefferson and the others were pushing you around?" Gracey prompted, so gently that Cy couldn't help but nod.

"Which is why I have to kill you!" Cy seized Gracey by the shoulders a wild look in his eyes.

"Is that what you think will make others see you differently?" Gracey asked desperately. "Cy – win or lose, killing other people or being with tons of girls won't make you a man."

"But don't you see? If I don't win, I'll never have a chance to prove them wrong!" Cy shook even as tears came to his eyes. "I have to do this!"

Gracey looked down and seemed to observe something near Cy's legs. She raised her eyes to him.

"Cy, I can tell you're not a murderer. You're a good boy. And I know that only one of us can come out, but I want to help you prove those other people wrong." She suddenly wrapped her arms around the boy and hugged him to her. Cy twisted in her grip.

"What are you doing?"

"Ssssshhhh…. Don't speak. Besides, we only have one life to live." She leaned in towards him, Cy shifting back, though Duke could tell reluctantly.

"But your district partner…."

"What district partner?" Gracey purred seductively.

Duke couldn't believe this. He couldn't watch anymore, but as he turned to run, he tripped and fell into the leaves.

The noise alerted Cy, but Gracey frantically seized him and crashed her lips to his in a long kiss.

Duke watched as Gracey kissed Cy everywhere, goading him. Eventually, the weakling of a boy gave in and began to kiss her back, even groping the girl lovingly at Gracey's encouragement.

"That's it, Cy," Gracey panted as they kissed. "Tell me – you don't want to live the rest of your life as a virgin, do you?"

"N-No" Cy stammered.

"Good." With that, Gracey assertively pushed Cy flat on his back in the sand and straddled him. She teasingly unbuttoned his jumpsuit as she moved to kiss his exposed chest. After undressing him, she raised her shirt over her head and cast it off with a flourish, before coming down on Cy.

Duke watched, transfixed, as the two once adversaries began to have sex. With every thrust, Cy seemed to gain new courage. In minutes, he was fucking Gracey with wild abandon, she riding him like a bull.

"Oh! Oh!" Gracey gasped airily as Cy furiously humped her center.

In the trees, Duke covered his face to stifle a moan. He dared not alleviate the bulge in his pants, for fear of alerting the tributes in-coitus to his presence. At last, Gracey gave a cry as she climaxed over Cy, followed by his grunts as he spilled into her.

Kissing him tenderly, Gracey rolled over of him and curled up into his side.

"Kill tomorrow. Right now, sleep with me." Cy barely nodded before he fell asleep.

Too stunned and exhausted to move, Duke lay back in the foliage and fell asleep himself.

* * *

In the middle of the night, Duke awoke to some noises. _Is she fucking him again? And what the hell for?_

But no. As he peered through the trees, he saw a still naked Gracey dragging Cy's equally naked form to the water. Once he was all the way in, Gracey seized his head and plunged it beneath the waves. There wasn't even any struggling on Cy's part before his body became limp and still. The cannon sounded.

Duke started in disbelief. She was faking! Gracey had somehow sized up Cy's weaknesses and used it in a kind of reverse psychological study, pitying him and then seducing him to weaken his will to fight. Then, once he was asleep…..

He should not have assumed Gracey was beyond that. This was the Hunger Games, after all. Duke shook his head with a smirk. _Sneaky little bitch_. Then he remembered. If Gracey found him in the trees….

Quietly and quickly as he could, Duke snuck away through the jungle, continuing on his path. He hoped that he did not encounter his very dangerous old ally for the rest of the Games. Hell, he hoped Jefferson didn't either…..


	9. Chapter 8: Monkey See, Monkey Do

**Chapter 8: Monkey See, Monkey Do**

Duke walked directionless through the jungle the rest of that night, stopping to rest after the sun had risen. By the time he awoke, it was high noon. He then decided to go back the way he had come, taking a narrow diagonal path from the Tropical into the Forest Quadrant so as to avoid the Volcano sector. Though he doubted any of the remaining tributes would go in there, Duke wasn't crazy enough to go in there himself, even to hide.

It was night by the time Duke reached the edge of the forest tree line. There stood the Cornucopia in the meadow….. looking completely deserted. It was almost eerie – just four days prior, there had been two dozen tributes launching themselves at the horn to begin a fight to the death. Maybe he could rifle any supplies that might be left since no one was around.

Cautiously, Duke approached the Cornucopia. Indeed, there was a small pile of backpacks right in the opening of the horn. Just as he bent down to pick one up….

"AHHH!" The wind whistled as a projectile missed Duke's ear by inches. He jumped up and wheeled around to see Bella barreling towards him. Duke raced around the horn with her chasing after him. When she caught up with him, the girl from 2 slashed at him with her knife. He jumped back, the movement missing his stomach, then parried her second blow with the first thing he could get his hands on, which happened to be the backpack. A slice appeared in the fabric and an apple spilled out. Duke didn't want to die over a backpack the way three other tributes had, so he threw the thing at Bella's feet and backed away. She did not follow.

The two tributes regarded each other in the moonlight. For the first time, even before training, Duke got a really good look at her. She was indeed quite attractive – sexy, even, as Gracey had said. 17 years old, pale skin, with chocolate brown eyes and long flowing hair, oval face, full lips and pronounced breasts, she was quite beautiful. To survive this long in the arena was one feat. To still look good and have a nice figure while doing so was quite another. She had to have been feeding herself quite well.

"I knew setting a trap would work! So, you're the rascal who has been stealing from me the last two nights!" Her voice was low for a girl – probably alto.

Duke had no idea what Bella was talking about, and said so. "I haven't stolen anything from you! I was in the forest and tropic quadrants the last two days!"

"Don't give me that! I've woken up today and yesterday to find backpacks missing! What's the matter? Gone low on food?"

"Actually, no," Duke said. He was just being honest, even if he would have been forgiven for lying in this environment. A tribute stealing from Bella? He knew it couldn't have been Cy, dead before this morning. And it couldn't have been Gracey because she had been seducing Cy the night before, and too far away besides. That left….. but would he steal from…..?

Duke stared at Bella, and remembered what Gracey had told him in training. Then he made a decision. He smiled and put his hands up in surrender.

"All right, Bells. You got me! I confess. I should have known you'd catch me sooner of later. You were pretty clever, to set up a trap for me." This was an outright lie, of course. Duke knew traps; he had built traps in training. Traps had served him well in the arena. A pile of backpacks in the middle of the Cornucopia was no trap. But he couldn't let her know that.

Duke had made the right gamble. Bella eyed him suspiciously for a moment before smirking. "It was quite ingenious, wasn't it?"

"There it is!" Duke capitalized on the admission and strode confidently towards her. "The big vocabulary. Advanced tactical skills. Battle prowess. Beauty. I bet the Gamemakers have rigged this entire thing to make sure you win. And you deserve to."

Bella grinned more broadly. "You're not so bad yourself, Twelve," she admitted. "Nobody from your district's ever gotten this far. That was you who made the kill last night, wasn't it?" She seemed to forget the fact that killing Cy would logically exonerate Duke from stealing from her, but Duke kept right on going.

"I sure did!" Duke improvised. "Cy didn't put up that much of a fight. But, I'm done. Who would ever root for a poor tribute from District 12….. when up next to you?"

Bella shrugged, clearly enjoying the attention and flattery. "Don't know."

A pause. Then Duke readied to spring his trap. "Are you going to kill me?" he asked, innocently as Gracey had.

"A tribute's a tribute. And there's not many of us left. I would certainly like to."

"But you would rather put me to use, wouldn't you, Bella?"

OK, he may have overplayed his hand, for Bella became suspicious again. "What do you mean?"

"A fight to the death means live while you can, right? So, I say we live." With that, Duke boldly wrapped his arms around Bella's waist. Perhaps thinking he was attacking her, Bella made to bring down the knife on him.

"Twelve, what are you doing. What….?" Her gasp was cut off as Duke pressed his lips to hers in a kiss. One hand about her waist, the other was at her hand, stopping the knife. As he kissed her, Duke carefully pried the knife, finger by finger, from Bella's grasp, until it fell into the Meadow's flowers.

"Mmmmmm….." Bella moaned sensuously into Duke's mouth and draped her arms about his neck. Her eyes closed as she began to kiss him back.

Duke groaned himself as he deepened the kiss. Her lips were firm and warm, yet also soft. Still, he was secretly repulsed. He would have thought it beneath him to seduce a tribute as a strategy. But, if Gracey could do it and get away with it, so could he.

Groping Bella's bum, he cupped each cheek before hoisting her long leg to his waist, then lifting the girl off her feet. Bella gave a tiny squeal into his mouth before folding her body against his. Duke crashed them back into the metal of the Cornucopia, both kissing and making out like mad. He attacked her neck, Bella leaning back into the cool surface to give him more access.

"Twelve….." she whined. "Quit teasing….. I….. I need….." and she let out a moan so loud and long and frankly pathetic, Duke was sure the whole arena could hear. Kissing her constantly, he went to work stripping Bella. He had never had sex before and didn't exactly fancy losing his virginity in the arena. But, when you have an opportunity in these Games…. Improvise!

Bella now naked before him and still in his arms, Duke went to work stripping his pants and casting them aside. Not once did he let Bella take control, for fear she might turn on him. But, no, she was enjoying this too much. Also without clothes, Duke now spun them both around so they collapsed amongst the flowers in the meadow. He began to wriggle his body on top of hers, and he felt Bella smirk against his lips.

"Go on, Twelve," she hissed. "You have me. What are you going to do with me? Take me?"

In answer, Duke sheathed himself in her vagina. Bella's gasp of initial wonder was silenced by Duke's kiss. He built up a rhythm, soon pounding into her. Bella gave screams of pleasure with every thrust, not caring who heard.

"Come on, Bella? Who's your little Daddy? Tell me!" Duke grunted.

"Oh! Oh! Yes, Twelve! You are, you are! Yes!" she screamed. With another airy cry, she climaxed and soon Duke orgasmed inside of her. Duke then took it slow, making gentle love to Bella. He would have to wrap this up before she grew bored with him…. But how?

Then he felt it, as he wriggled his body up against the meadow grass: Bella's knife, where it had fallen after he had disarmed her during his seduction of her. Duke broke apart his lips from Bella's tenderly. Her eyes were fluttered shut, her full breasts heaving in pleasure.

"Bella…." he whispered softly. "I want to try something with you. Do you trust me?"

"Yes," Bella hissed, her eyes still shut.

Duke pulled out of Bella and then blindly reached for the knife. To keep up the ruse, he thrust his penis into Bella…. while simultaneously slashing her stomach with the knife.

Bella's eyes flew open and she screamed. Duke quickly kissed her to shut her up, muffling her mouth with his. He kept her pinned as she flailed beneath him, trying and failing to fight back. "Mmmmm! Mmmmmm!"

Next second, Duke slit her throat. Bella's thrashing grew weak as she lost blood and finally she stopped moving against him.

Duke broke the kiss to find her eyes staring up lifeless at the sky. The cannon sounded. Still incredibly hard, Duke fucked Bella until he got himself off, spilling his seed inside of her. Then he pulled out of her and waited until the hovercraft took her body away.

The Cornucopia now all to himself, he gathered all of the supplies he could carry and set up camp. As he burned useless belongings and ate food from the packs, he had time to think. He felt like a monster, seducing and having sex with Bella only to then murder her. But, he knew if he had not outsmarted her, she would have killed him. And it had worked for Gracey on Cy…..

Thoughts and regrets burning through his brain, Duke curled up next to his pile of supplies and fell asleep.

* * *

Later that night, the wind picked up dangerously. Storm clouds gathered and flashed across the sky. Duke was woken by it, and saw that the Tropical Quadrant was bearing the brunt of this storm, probably Gamemaker-created. Suddenly, just over the howl of the wind, he heard a scream. A woman's scream… Gracey.

Followed by a softer than normal cannon.

Duke slumped to the meadow earth and sighed. There went his district partner. So close to victory like him. Both had made it to the Top Three – unheard of in District 12 history. Now, the one thing standing between him and being his home's first victor was one person.

Jefferson.

* * *

The next morning brought the sixth day in the arena. Duke hunted for food in and around the Meadow. Having essentially taken control of the Cornucopia, he didn't want for anything. Still, it would be nice to actually have some game to feast upon. He had set some snares, but not had any luck.

Then, Duke noticed one of the pedestals near his camp. A metal plate at its base had shifted loose, revealing wiring. He remembered several things at once: he knew from previous Games that the pedestals were rigged to explode if a tribute stepped off before the gong sounded. Also, though he had never worked in the mines back home, Duke had learned electrical engineering from his father, an electrician.

Duke dug up all of the bombs from underneath the pedestals and rewired them to make them active again. They were big enough to make a decent-sized explosion, yet small enough to carry. Thus, he found burrows of little animals and dropped the bombs in them to smoke any out. He got plenty of game this way. Soon, he had only one bomb left, which he left. Maybe it would be useful in his fight against Jefferson that was sure to come.

* * *

 **A/N: So Bella's character is based heavily off Kristen Stewart; that's who I based it off of. Just to give you a picture. Hell, even her Twilight name was used!**


	10. Chapter 9: The Grand Finale

**Chapter 9: The Grand Finale**

Day Seven in the arena dawned stormy. Lightning streaked across the sky and the thunder rolled. The wind screamed. Thinking another hurricane had returned, Duke abandoned his camp and made for the Forest Quadrant, hoping the trees would at least give him cover.

But they didn't. The storm seemed to follow him, and lightning unnaturally struck down around him. This was a Gamemaker trap, and Duke could barely evade it. It was as if the storm was manipulating him to go a certain way.

That was when Duke realized: the volcano. No tribute that he knew of had ventured into that Quadrant, but that is where the Gamemakers wanted the big final showdown between him and Jefferson.

Duke continued to frantically dodge the man-made lightning, falling trees and pushed against the wind. He didn't want to die this way, and only hoped that Jefferson was caught in the same storm and died first.

At last, he burst onto the Volcano Quadrant, where the rumbling of the volcano mixed with the thunder. The powerful creation of earth would be waking up soon. Now dodging lava and magma trails, Duke climbed along the cooled volcano rock until he reached the summit. Panting, he collapsed to his knees to rest.

And that was his mistake. A rebel yell alerted him to Jefferson's presence just before the boy from 1 tackled him. The two wrestled desperately on the ground. Duke clawed wherever he could reach, finally throwing Jefferson off him. Panting, both tributes stood and circled each other like wolves, careful to avoid the crater that led into the volcano's depths.

"How did you get this far, Twelve?" Jefferson spat. "No one from your district…."

"I KNOW!" Duke roared in anger against the rumble of the volcano. "No one can believe I came this far given where I come from. But, I am not ashamed of it, Jefferson. It took wits, and skills and a whole lot of running, but I've made it farther than any District 12 tribute…. and so did my partner!"

Then it dawned on him: the reason for Jefferson's incredulity that he had survived.

"You set me up, didn't you? _You_ stole the backpacks from the Cornucopia and betted that I would get caught by Bella and framed for it. You just didn't expect me to bluff my way out of it, to get Bella all horny and then fuck her and kill her."

Jefferson nodded with a smirk. "Give the boy a prize!" he mocked sarcastically. "But you're wrong on one point: the trap was meant for anyone, not just you. I knew I could not beat Bella if it came down to me and her, so I hoped that she might catch someone else and then both would destroy each other in a battle. You were a useful pawn for getting rid of her, but I didn't expect you to walk away alive." He chuckled. "No matter. You've had a long ride, Twelve, but now it's over!"

With that, he lunged at Duke. But this time, the boy from District 12 was ready. As Jefferson tackled him, Duke actually hugged him close so he couldn't move with his weapons. As they wrestled, Duke prayed for time and strength. He got just enough.

Jefferson finally broke free and kicked Duke away from him. The boy was on his side, staring up exhausted at the monster from District 1.

"You're mine, Twelve!" Jefferson snarled. Duke pushed himself up onto his knees, his eyes blazing and determined.

"Game's over, Jefferson. I win!" Then he flung his last knife.

Jefferson side-stepped just enough so that the knife pinned off him, but did not wound him. He burst out laughing.

"Nice try, Twelve. But you can't sweet-talk your way out of this one…."

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! The noise made Jefferson look down…. to see that an entire bomb had somehow been strapped to his chest.

And rigged to explode.

"Ahh! Get it off! Get it off!" But he did not know how to work the wires.

Duke smirked in triumph, then moved fast. He got to his feet, rushed Jefferson and pushed him. Hard.

With a scream, Jefferson lost his balance and fell backwards, right into the open mouth of the volcano. Then-

BOOM! Except it wasn't a cannon. It was the bomb detonating. Then there was a mighty blast as the explosion triggered the eruption of the volcano. Huge amounts of lava shot up out of the volcano.

Duke ran for his life, down the cooled volcanic rock slopes. He had no time to admire the sheer awesome power. He burst into the Forest Quadrant, waves of magma following him. Finding the nearest tree, he climbed up its trunk desperately, all the way to the top and outrunning the magma flowing beneath.

The lava seemed to engulf the arena, as Duke clung to the tree for dear life. At long last, the last cannon sounding to belatedly signal Jefferson's death. The announcer came over the loudspeaker, backed up by screams of celebration:

"Ladies and gentlemen: May I present the winner of the 13th Annual Hunger Games. I give you – Duke Vedaldi of District 12, the first victor for his district in history!"


	11. Chapter 10: The Afterlife

**Chapter 10: The Afterlife**

The first person Duke met after being released from the arena was Proteus. He practically knocked over the guy with a huge hug, and didn't mind when the old Capitol escort sobbed into his shoulder with joy. At last, District 12 had produced a victor.

The next few days were a whirl: interviews with Ceasar, along with an entire recap of his Games. Interestingly, the discovery of the bombs and also his rigging of it to Jefferson were cut….. The President of Panem placed the Victory Crown on Duke's head. And just like that, Duke Vedaldi, Hunger Games Victor, was being escorted home to District 12. Julie, his mother, was the first one to meet him at the train station. All she could do was hug him close and cry.

"Duke, I'm sorry….. I'm so sorry…."

Duke moved into his new home in the Victor's Village. His parents both lived with him. For the first few weeks after his victory, all was peaceful. Then –

The Peacekeepers burst into his house without warning. Seizing all three Vedaldis, they dragged them out into the sweltering. Restrained, Duke watched in horror as his mother was raped by the Peacekeepers, then slaughtered before his very eyes. His father tried to fight back, but the guards beat him within an inch of his life, leaving him for dead. They didn't bother with Duke, and Duke knew why: he was a Victor. They could not kill him, but they could punish him for his little bomb stunt in the Games.

Duke had helped his father inside and nursed him back to health. Even then, though, something had shattered inside the man who had raised him. He would sit in his chair, his breathing the only thing telling Duke he wasn't lifeless. The man never spoke, leaving Duke to fend for himself.

Proteus had the decency to return to console Duke early, still before the Victory Tour.

"They think I cheated with the pedestals' bombs, Proteus! I was just trying to keep myself alive! I thought you said there were no rules."

"That's the thing, Duke: there are no rules. Which means there are no rules against making up rules, either," Proteus confessed sadly. "You may have thought that the Games can be won in any method you choose, and to a certain degree, they can. But that doesn't mean the Capitol approves of _all_ the methods. You didn't play the Game their way, Duke. So they had to punish you – to set an example."

Touring the Districts and seeing the families of the dead tributes was punishment enough. Duke could barely get through the service at District 2 before being wracked with guilt, seeing Bella's family glowering at him for what he did to her.

It was also punishment enough when he began his first year as a mentor. He did his best, passing down what Proteus had taught him, but in the end, it didn't matter. Both of his tributes died in the Bloodbath.

The one comfort was in the painkillers and pills Duke was able to purchase in the Capitol, and also order from home. He would drug himself to escape the awful memories of the arena, though a part of him hated himself for it.

Another relief was an old friend from his childhood: Reneé Cyrus. He had been playmates with her as a child, and had even had a secret crush on her, but never acted on it. Still, it was nice to know that she cared, when she brought him soup from her home or just sat and talked with him. The only time he wasn't drugged out was in the weeks leading up to the Games, when he would clue in enough to not get high and remain sober for mentoring.

* * *

Year after year passed this way. And year after year, Duke mentored kids only to see most of them get slaughtered the first day. A few noteworthy ones at least tried to make a go of it, and some even got to the Final 8, but nobody even came close to winning.

It made Duke wonder whether he was doomed to do this job until the day he died: alone, and without any other Hunger Games victories to his district's name.

But he was wrong, it would turn out. So very wrong.


	12. Chapter 11: Master and Apprentice

**Chapter 11: Master and Apprentice**

"Hey! Vedaldi!"

37 years of being addressed thus had left Duke ambivalent whenever the Peacekeepers came knocking on his door. Most of the time, he was left alone as a sort of hermit, living legend in the Victor's Village. But not today. No, today was Reaping Day for the 50th Hunger Games, also known as the Second Quarter Quell. Having to pick two kids to die was hard enough. Having to pick four would be damn near unbearable. Duke remembered the First Quarter Quell and how it had had a twist. Some kid from District 8 pulled off a come-from-behind victory. Both his tributes had died in the Bloodbath.

Just as every tribute he had ever mentored died.

The one thing that made the whole sordid affair at least tolerable was Proteus, his old escort and friend from the Capitol. He would be retiring at the end of this year, after half a century of escorting District 12 tributes.

Duke saw the old man now as he was escorted to the stage in front of the Justice Building. He gave him a warm hug and took his seat between the Mayor and Proteus. Slowly, all the residents of Twelve trickled in.

The video was just as canned and predictable as it had been at Duke's first Reaping. Only now, the Mayor could at least use his line about Past Victors and not be embarrassed by it.

"And now, we shall read off the names of past District 12 victors: Duke Vedaldi!"

There was token applause, and Duke stood with a small smile and waved half-heartedly. The first few years after his victory, the applause had been loud – for the 14th Games, his first year as mentor, a riot had practically occurred as the residents celebrated their hero's victory. But with every year, and every death, the applause had grown fainter and fainter. Duke had even heard many citizens whisper about whether the 13th Games had been rigged just so Twelve could have _a_ victor. He had been insulted, of course, until he remembered that most of the people who had been alive for his Games were all dead or dying.

 _At least I stay sober off the drugs for this. If I didn't love my district, I could be as wasted as I like and not care._

Proteus took the stand and Duke was pleased that he was given a smattering of applause, even more than had been for him. Well, it was the guy's last year, and he had been a loyal servant for Twelve until the end.

The girls were selected first:

"Kessler Pieper!" A girl of about 17 took the stage. Then Proteus selected a second ball from the Girls. Duke was about to remind him of his error, until he remembered the twist.

"Maysilee Donner!" This girl, blonde and beautiful and about 16, joined Kessler.

"And now for the boys." Proteus selected from the second bowl.

"Russell Sanders!" Duke stifled a groan as he saw a scrawny 12-year-old take the stage, terror in his eyes. _You should be, buddy – you're going to be dead in a few weeks._

"Haymitch Abernathy!" Duke started, recognizing the name. Faster than lightning, his eyes found the boy's mother, Reneé Abernathy, nee Cyrus. Then, he followed movement coming from the 16-year-old boys' pen.

Tall, dark hair. Seam eyes. Muscular. Reneé's oldest son was quite the looker. Duke's mind instantly whirled five steps ahead, wondering how many sponsors would back him. With looks like that, it was not a question of who, it was how many. Given that his tributes barely got funding to begin with, Duke knew he could work with the Abernathy boy.

* * *

Duke waited in his special chamber in the Justice Building. Technically, the mentor was allowed to have visitors, though no one ever did come by. His father had, tokenly, the first decade or so after his victory, but they never spoke. Oh, well. Poor bastard was long dead anyway.

So it came as something of a surprise when the door opened to reveal Reneé Abernathy, wearing a simple frock. Duke stood.

"Wasn't expecting a visitor," he cracked self-deprecatingly, but she ignored him. Instead, she took his hand.

"Duke, you have to promise me. Make sure my boy comes back alive. I don't care what you have to do. Just get him home to me!"

Duke was about to tell her it was hopeless. No District 12 tribute had been crowned victor save once, and that result was standing before her: a 53-year old, middle-aged drug addict.

Then he remembered how he had made his mother a similar promise, to save himself. He could see her now, in Reneé's eyes, the way she pleaded for her son to live.

He sighed. In another life, one without the arena, he might have grown a pair of balls and asked Reneé to go out on a date, maybe even marry him. But one choice like the Games could change the course of an entire life. Still, Reneé was his friend, which is what made him utter what he did next.

"I promise. Haymitch will win." Not Haymitch _might_ win, he _will_ win.

Yet another promise Duke wasn't sure that he could keep.

* * *

The dinner on the train was a silent affair. Proteus had learned long ago not to judge the tributes' eating habits, especially those from the Seam, where all but Maysilee hailed this year. That alone put him heads and shoulders above most of the Capitol snobs.

Duke sat in silence, waiting for any of the quartet to ask him questions. Some years, he had had to hold their hands through the process, coaching them through their interviews and training so it looked as though he at least tried. Didn't mean the tributes always did. Some resigned themselves to the fact that they were as good as dead. Duke's living proof as an exception to this unofficial rule did not relieve their hopelessness.

Haymitch was the first one done. "All right, that's it. How do we win?"

Well. He hadn't heard that question from a tribute in a long time. Duke eyed his best friend's child with sad eyes.

"You don't, kid. Even if you become a victor, you only survive. You never win these Games."

Haymitch scoffed. "First of all, my name's not kid. It's Haymitch."

"I know your name, boy, your mother is my best friend…."

"And she said you would help me! That starts by not treating me as though I'm some pig for slaughter! And third, you survive these Games by living as long as you can. You win by walking out alive!"

"Don't talk about things you don't understand, Abernathy! If you even manage to be crowned victor, which I highly doubt, you will learn. The world is not as black and white as you think. If nothing else, that is what the arena will teach you!"

"Then, lay it on me, old man! How do we win?"

Duke eyed him pointedly. Haymitch rolled his eyes. "Fine. _Survive_."

Duke stared at the boy. He was sure of one thing: he had a fighter on his hands. And looking around the table, he could tell he had more than one. Maysilee was eyeing him eagerly, as was Kessler. Even little Russel – bless his heart! – was gripping the table tenaciously.

And in their eyes, Duke saw something that he had once held himself: determination.

He let out a long breath. "You want to know how to _win_? Fine. Here's how: Stay alive. Now let's break it down from there; here's how you do it….."

* * *

The training was a whirlwind. Duke was the most engaged he had been in years, giving his tributes tips on what to focus on in training, coaching them through their interviews, telling them what angle to play. Through it all, he managed to at least learn a little bit about each of them, too. Some years, his protégés had been just names to go with faces, anonymous, invisible.

Especially when none of them came back in anything but a coffin.

All too soon, it was time to say goodbye to them. He hugged the girls and reminded them both, "Run. Find water." He ruffled Russell's hair. "Take care of yourself." Barring a miracle, he knew he would never see the little boy again. Then, he faced Haymitch.

"Haymitch, when you're in there…." He gathered his courage to make the decision. "You remember who the real enemy is."

Haymitch nodded shortly. He understood. Clever little man, this guy was.

After seeing the hovercraft off, Duke entered the Mentor's Bar, where past victors could watch their tributes from big flat screen TVs, and also order sponsor gifts. It was much more crowded than it had been Duke's first year here. Over the decades, just over a dozen souls had ballooned into 49 people, the oldest being in their late 60s.

"And there he is! The Druggee of District 12!"

Duke smirked good-naturedly at the 60-year-old grandma like figure as he took a seat at the bar. "Hey Mags. You retired yet?"

"Sugar, please. You know we only get to retire when we're dead!" She flagged down the bartender. "Two Bloody Marys, on the rocks! And make it snappy! It's almost 10 AM!"

Duke burst out laughing. Mags was one of the Old Guard, victors who had won the first decade of the Games. She had been the 4th victor and ever since his win, he had looked up to her.

"How's Muscida holding up?"

"Oh, all the boys are drooling after her. But she's a big girl. She can handle herself." Duke looked back to the booths to see Mags' first, and so far only, successful protégé, Muscida Selkirk, laughing and talking with other victors (she had won in the late 20s). At least the two women could share the load together. If only he had a partner to mentor with….

Screams erupted as the TV feed became live. Duke straightened, the most anxious he had been in decades. He scanned until he saw all four of his tributes: Kessler, Russell, Maysilee and last of all, Haymitch. He waited as they were about to take off into the most beautiful, but surely deadly, arena he had ever seen. It actually kind of reminded him of his own Games.

 _Come on, you guys. Give me a win….._

* * *

"I must say, Twelve is putting up a fight this year," Mags observed.

"Nothing like a Quarter Quell to get you to grow some balls," Duke chuckled ruefully, a little buzzed from the drinks.

But Mags was right. Twelve _was_ putting up a fight – a better one than normal. With double the tributes, 18 of whom died on the first day, all four of his pupils had managed to escape the Bloodbath, even little Russell.

He didn't last long after that, though, as the giant Career pack had hunted him down for sport. Still, the other three were all still alive.

Haymitch had quickly made for the trees of the arena and never strayed, in fact saying on a remarkably straight path throughout. He encountered no other tributes for a while, and had the good sense to not drink the poisonous river water, cleverly collecting what rain fell from the heavens.

The comfort had not lasted long though. Several days in, the mountain in the arena suddenly erupted as a volcano, killing 10 tributes and all but 5 of the Career Pack. Kessler was among them. That left only a dozen tributes left, including Haymitch and Maysilee. Still, Duke was pleased. The field had dwindled to a quarter of what it was and two of his tributes were still alive? In any normal year, that would have been an outstanding showing. For this year, it was remarkable.

Then, Haymitch had encountered three of the five Career tributes. Duke had panicked, thinking this was the end and he would have to work hard for Maysilee to win. But no, Haymitch put up an incredible fight, killing two before the third disarmed him. In a nailbiting twist, Haymitch was spared when Maysilee appeared and felled the third Career with a blowdart. The two District 12 tributes formed an alliance reminding Duke painfully of him and Gracey. Alliances this late were never good.

Or maybe they were. Haymitch and Maysilee fought better as a team, making and then bypassing the Final Eight benchmark. The only disconcerting thing was that Haymitch insisted on proceeding in the same direction. Maysilee must have sensed this, too, for at one point she refused to go any further without an answer.

"Because it has to end somewhere, right? The arena can't go on forever."

By now, Haymitch and Maysilee had gathered quite a following amongst the victors, and Duke had even managed to net some sponsors for them. In the Mentor's Bar, the victors looked at each other.

"What does he mean, ' _It can't go on forever'_?" a woman from District 5 asked. Everyone looked to Duke, who merely shook his head without taking his eyes off the screen.

"I don't know…." But something told him it didn't sound good.

Amazingly, Haymitch was right. After searing through a thick hedge with a blowtorch, he and Maysilee came to the edge of a steep cliff. An abyss was far below. The camera feed fuzzed and got slightly static, as if the Capitol was unsure whether to cut away from this unexpected development.

"That's all there is, Haymitch. Let's go back," Maysilee was saying.

"No. I'm staying here."

Mags looked to Duke, baffled. Maysilee squared her shoulders.

"Fine. There's five of us left, anyway. I don't want it to come down to you and me."

"All right," Haymitch responded, without even turning his head. Maysilee walked away. Duke was relieved. Good. Perfect time to break it off.

Then, he looked up at a gasp from his colleagues.

"What happened?"

"The pebble…. It bounced back!" someone breathed.

"Pebble? What pebble?" Duke reached for the remote.

"No! Don't rewind it!" Mags cried. "Just watch. He's thinking."

Duke observed Haymitch look at the pebble, then over the cliff. Then, the boy suddenly seized a rock the size of his fist and hurled it over the edge. A pause. Then the rock bounced back – right into Haymitch's waiting hand.

A huge gasp filled the bar.

"A forcefield! There's a forcefield down there!" a District 2 mentor cried, pointing at the screen.

"He knew something was waiting at the end! But how?" asked another.

Mags was just laughing right along with Haymitch on the screen. "Way to go, Tic-Tac!" she crowed.

But Duke was stunned – and terrified. Whatever Haymitch had found had never intended to be. He would be punished for sure! What had he done?

A sudden scream distracted everybody. And Duke just felt worse. He knew that scream….

Haymitch did, too, for he sprinted in its direction without a second thought. He found Maysilee a few yards into the woods, stabbed through the neck by deadly pink birds. He held her hand as she died.

* * *

"All right, all right! We're at the Top Two! Who's going to win? Place your bets, place your bets!" Mags called out like a carnival barker as she passed around a hat.

"I bet 15 Panemts on District 12!" called a man.

"And I say 20 for the girl from 1!" yelled another.

Mags smirked at the second fellow. "You're gonna lose that wager, Soren. I'll match that – 20 Panemts for Haymitch Abernathy!"

Duke added a ten for his last living protégé. After Maysilee's death, another tribute had been killed by golden squirrels and a third had fallen to the last remaining Career – the first girl from District 1 – in combat. But Haymitch was still in this. Duke wasn't sure what to be more terrified of: for Haymitch to die just short of victory, or for him to literally make history and win.

Screams split the air as the camera cut to the last two tributes, ready to face off at last. Duke gripped the bar so hard, his knuckles turned white. _Come on Haymitch…. don't let me down._

The fight was vicious. Haymitch gave as good as he got; he even managed to take out one of the girl's eyes. And he was still standing.

At least until the girl sent an axe into his stomach.

"My God, his guts are starting to show! He's dead! Come on, you little bitch – finish him off!"

"No, look! He's running!"

Screams and calls like this only rose as Haymitch stumbled through the woods, holding his intestines in. Duke didn't even let the foreboding thought of where he was headed deter him from screaming at the TV along with the others. He didn't give a fuck anymore.

"Come on! Come on, kid! You got this!" he yelled.

Just as Haymitch reached his cliff, the girl lost patience and threw her axe. It sailed past Haymitch's head and over the cliff.

A hush fell over the crowd as Haymitch faced his final foe, weak and on his knees. With no weapon to fight with, the girl just stood there awkwardly, clearly betting that Haymitch would succumb before she did.

"He's growing white! He's done!" a Career mentor whooped.

"No," Duke whispered, clearly remembering what was coming where others didn't. "It ain't over till the last cannon…."

It happened so fast, the mentors almost didn't see it. Haymitch fell to his stomach, a blur whizzing over his head. The girl's shocked face and then –

BOOM.

"….sounds," Duke exhaled, just before the deafening roars of delight, shock and anger immersed the bar.

"HE DID IT! HE FUCKING DID IT!" Mags screamed, gripping Duke's arm.

"Son of a bitch used the arena as a weapon!" Soren gaped in utter disbelief.

Muscida seized Duke's hand and shook it vigorously. "Congratulations, Duke! You deserve it, after all these years!"

Duke was just deflated. Amidst the screaming and cheers and Claudius Templesmith announcing Haymitch Abernathy as the winner of the 50th Annual Hunger Games, all he could do was weep. Weep for joy at finally not feeling alone. Weep in grief at what might come next. For which, he wasn't sure.

* * *

The aftermath of the Games was a blur for Duke. Before he could blink, he was on the train back home. Only this time, a young 16-year-old boy – no, _man_ – sat across from him.

And his 53-year-old mentor had no idea what to do with him.

"So, what happens when we get home?" Haymitch asked.

Duke just stared out the window as he answered, "We live the rest of our lives."

The train pulled into the District 12 station. Unlike in past years, however, it was packed with people. The door had barely opened before hands seized Haymitch and Duke and yanked them into the crowd. The roar was deafening. Duke tried to jostle his way past people; most everyone was focusing on their district's first new victor in decades. Suddenly, a body mowed into Duke as someone threw her arms around him. Reneé.

"Oh, God! Thank you, Duke! Thank God for you!"

It happened so fast. Reneé kissed Duke, right on the lips – a peck, really, before springing back. Duke stared, stunned and his eyes quickly looked for Haymitch. No, the boy hadn't noticed, thank goodness. Even if his father was dead, it wouldn't look good if….

He turned back to Reneé. There was a slight blush to her cheeks. Before he could say anything (or even kiss her back), she had disappeared into the crowd.

* * *

The weeks passed. Haymitch moved into his new home in the Victor's Village, along with his mother and younger brother, Gregory. The younger Abernathy was a gentle giant, so he didn't look like he was only 14, but he still acted like a small child. Duke had only heard that it was caused by something called Autism….

Reneé, for her part, never mentioned the kiss at the train station, and neither did Duke. They went on being good friends.

One evening, about a month after Haymitch's victory, Duke had been invited by the Abernathys over for dinner. Soon, another guest joined them: Brooke, Haymitch's girlfriend. She was a pixie little thing, but pretty with curly black hair. Duke didn't know her well, except when she had once privately thanked him for saving her boyfriend's life.

"I watched all those deaths, and every one of them, I thought, ' _It could have been Haymitch,_ '" she had said.

It could have been, especially with a field of 47 others instead of 23.

Just as the dinner was ending, the door suddenly burst open and Peacekeepers rushed in.

"Hey, what's going on?" Haymitch started. Then a Peacekeeper grabbed Brooke's arm roughly. "Hey!" the boy snapped angrily, but Duke intercepted him and held him back.

"Duke, let me go!"

Other guards had also seized Gregory and Reneé. "Duke, what's happening?" Reneé cried.

"It's going to be OK, Reneé!" Duke lied. He turned to the Head Peacekeeper, anger behind his eyes, barely contained. "Take it outside. Make it quick."

But the Head Peacekeeper just smirked. "On second thought, let's do it here, boys." he called to the others.

Haymitch turned in Duke's grasp. "What does he mean? Do what here-?"

BANG.

Brooke crumpled to the floor from a single gunshot.

"BROOKE!" Haymitch screamed. He instantly lunged for the Peacekeeper who had fired, his arena instincts coming back, but Duke held him in place, tears in his eyes.

Another BANG! brought down Reneé.

"MOTHER!"

The Head Peacekeeper turned his gun on Gregory, who was struggling against the Peacekeepers and crying, not understanding what was happening. Haymitch struggled fiercely.

"NO! LEAVE HIM ALONE! HE HAS SPECIAL NEEDS! HE DIDN'T DO ANYTHING WRONG!"

Gregory whimpered. "Brovey….": his interpretation of the word ' _brother_ ' as it referred to Haymitch.

BANG.

"AHHH!" Haymitch roared, breaking free of Duke at last and rushing the Head Peacekeeper and grabbing his throat, intent on strangling him. The official threw a punch that hit Haymitch full in the face, bringing him down. Duke rushed to his side, then glared at the Peacekeepers.

"Your work here is done. Take them and get out."

The Peacekeepers dragged out the bodies, leaving Duke to try and console a weeping Haymitch. It didn't take long for the grief to turn into rage, and Haymitch pushed Duke away.

"You knew! You fucking _knew_ it when they walked in here and you didn't try to stop them! Why didn't you….?"

"BECAUSE THE SAME DAMN THING HAPPENED TO ME!" Duke yelled. "Two weeks after my victory, I had to watch those sleazebags _rape_ my mother and then kill her. It destroyed my dad! At least your family was given a quick execution!"

"BUT I WON!" Haymitch screamed in Duke's face. "I played their stupid little Game! What more do they want from me? Why do I deserve this?"

"Because you won," Duke answered quietly. "The wrong way. You didn't play by their rules."

"What are you talking about? The Games don't _have any_ rules!"

"True, but that also means there are no rules against making ones up," Duke explained somberly, echoing the lesson Proteus had taught him oh so long ago. He sat Haymitch down by the fire. "From the moment you reached the edge of the arena and discovered that forcefield, I feared for you. What might happen if you won. Or if the Gamemakers would make sure you died. You found a chink in the Capitol's armor, Haymitch – a chink that wasn't supposed to be found. Your trick with the axe at the end made them look stupid, and if there's one thing the Capitol hates, it's being laughed at. This slaughter was designed to break you. They can't kill you, you're a victor now – only break you. You'll be used as an example for others who might dare to make the Capitol look bad. They'll turn you into a joke, make it look like you don't matter, so people will forget."

Haymitch sniffled. "Is that why your mom was killed? Did you 'cheat' in your Games too? If we want to call it that."

Duke nodded. "I did quote on quote 'cheat', to use your terminology." And he was off, telling Haymitch in precise detail how he had won the 13th Hunger Games, right up through rigging the bomb to Jefferson's chest and pushing him into the volcano. Haymitch smirked at the end.

"That was definitely unorthodox. But is that why I've never seen your Games on re-runs?"

"Yup," Duke nodded. "And probably why we'll never see yours re-aired, either. As punishment, I was made into an aberration. A freak accident. But they used me because I could then train future tributes. It's as I said the first time we were on the train: the world is not as black and white as you think." He gripped Haymitch's shoulders. "And I played right into the Capitol's trick. Drugging myself out to forget the pain. Haymitch, whatever you do, don't do what I did. Because then the Capitol will have won."

* * *

Haymitch didn't keep that promise, of course. How could he? The pain of losing his girl and his family was too great.

The first time Duke caught Haymitch with a bottle during the Victory Tour, he went ballistic and threw it into the fire. But after a time, he gave up and let it slide.

The first year, Duke and Haymitch went back to the Capitol together to mentor, so the master could train his new apprentice. After that, Haymitch took over and went on his own – by now, addicted to alcohol and usually drunk.

So it was seen as serendipity then, when, having produced a successor and trained him as an apprentice, Duke Vedaldi passed away suddenly after the 53rd Hunger Games, dead of a drug overdose.

* * *

 **A/N: It is well known in the books that Haymitch had a little brother. I based him off of my own brother with special needs because I wanted there to be someone to totally break Haymitch beyond even his mother and girlfriend being killed.**


	13. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Katniss Everdeen Mellark screamed as she squeezed her husband's hand. Flanking her on the other side, she felt Haymitch wince.

"Careful, sweetheart, or you'll break his fingers!"

"I'm breaking more than his fingers when I get out of this, old man….. ARGGH!" She gave one last mighty heave, followed by the wail of an infant. The nurse cleaned the Mellark's first baby up. A healthy little boy. Katniss took him in her arms and rocked him gently.

"OK, what's his name? I've got a bottle of whiskey waiting for me at home."

"Calm down, Haymitch!" Peeta laughed, even though he wanted to know himself.

"I was thinking…. Mitchy. Partially after Haymitch, of course. Mitchy Duke Mellark."

Picking up on his former mentor's name, Haymitch fought back tears. "The son of two District 12 victors and named after the other two. I like it!"

The little family smiled, ready to embrace the future….. while still honoring the past.


End file.
